I don’t remember when I learned to read or write. It’s like I just suddenly knew. Of course that’s not the

way it happened but when you start very young that’s the way you remember it. I don’t remember

learning how to fish. Or play the piano. I was 6 or 7 years old. I remember learning how to hunt.

I remember how I learned to work. (Cleaning THOUSANDS of fish.) I remember learning to play the

guitar. I was 12 years old. And I made the mistake early, at that young age, of thinking music was some

kind of answer to my problems because of the way it made me feel. At 15 years of age I finally took it to

the point that I got sent to Military School because I couldn’t quite grasp the concept of playing the

guitar AND doing my homework. No matter what my parents offered as rewards for better grades, I was

stuck on the guitar and doing it my way because of the way it made me feel. It was my escape.

Of course, the Military School Head Master had a different way of reasoning with me. He just took my

guitar away from me until my grades came up. As a reward for good grades, I got my guitar back and got

to go home for Christmas. See? If you just explain things to me I can be reasoned with.

 

BUT, music was still my answer. Since it was a false answer it came with a complete set of monsters.

And when this answer had run its course, me and my monsters had a nervous breakdown. There is a

difference between who you are and what you do with your hands. I thought music was who I was.

At my first serious attempt to write a song I realized I had no words. Nothing to say.  I was empty.

 

It was at that moment I was open to new learning which came in the form of the PFAL class.

The Word was opened to me, I found out who I am and I was set free from those monsters and fears.

And here began 15 years of incredible spiritual growth and personal opportunity at the feet of the

masters.

 

My first year in the corps everyone was assigned a personal research project. When I went for my

meeting with Dr. Wierwille to get my subject he said to me, “Way Productions.” The first glimmer of

light I got was when I went to see Rev. Walter Cummins up in his little cubbyhole of an office in the EOB.

This was 1971/72 or so. I was still very much under the preconceived notion, like most people, that

music somehow came from God. Walter took me into the scriptures and showed me music’s humble

beginning. (Genesis 4:21) Jubal was a son of Cain, the first murderer. And at the same time, I was aware

of David and the effect his work had on Saul. (1 Samuel 16:14-23). So I had my work cut out for me.

I tried to play, but I couldn’t get past the horrible feelings. Just touching the frets was emotionally

painful. So, I tried to help where I could. From time to time, Dr. Wierwille would say to me, “You need to

listen to this guy.” So, I’d go out and buy the records. Or, he’d say, “You need to read this guy’s books.”

So I’d go out and get the books. And when I had a question, I’d just over to the house and knock on his

door and talk about things. One such little meeting I asked him about which musical direction we should

take. Rock? Blues? He said, “I think we better go country. People who listen to country might be more

apt to hear the Word.” So, that’s how I came to begin thinking country. That set my course of musical

study. I started with what my ear could stand and worked my way back over years to the Opry.

 

During my first year in the Corps, I went up and knelt down by Dr. Wierwille during lunch and said, “I

think I need to go see Ted for a while.” (Ted Ferrell was on the road playing clubs.) He put his fork down

and looked at me and said, “How long will you be gone?” I said, “…about a month.” He looked down for

a few seconds and then said, “Ok…go tell Howard to give you a car.”

 

No matter what level you work at, everybody’s got to have somebody to help them.

And for me, Ted Ferrell was someone I could talk to about music. He’d been 20 years in retail music,

night clubs, etc. before the Way Productions came along.

He could explain things with respect to “the show.”

He was the consummate professional. When it was show time, he was all Ted.

 Every time he performed it was classic Ted whether for 3 or 3000.

The first time I went into a recording studio, it was with Ted.

 I was so killed by the sound, I forsook the hotel we were staying at and slept in the studio

console room. Ted was amused but I think he knew. Ted never tried to play me. Never used me.

Always believed in me. Always went to bat for me.  Always treated me as a brother.

He was always “Holding on.”

 

Looking back from where I sit, I see looming in the distance this great mountain, like Sunset Mountain at

L.E.A.D. which casts a huge shadow as the sun heads west. This mountain was the PFAL series.

The greatest healing. A high mountain from which everything in my field of vision took on clarity,

perspective and proportion. I think the second great healing for me came with Don Wierwille.

When Don took on the vice-presidency he did so reluctantly. He really didn’t want to be there. But, he

felt it was his duty to show up and he worked under enormous pressure. It took a huge toll on him.

But he did his best.

 

One day we were down at the Wierwille House and he pulled out his Dad’s old guitar and started playing

this old country song. Now, Donnie really was not a guitar player, and played like he was not a guitar

player. So, I took the guitar out of his hands and started playing the tune. As he sang he looked like a

man who had just had the cares of the world lifted off his shoulders. He laughed. He smiled.

He loosened up. We “sang up every song that driver knew.” Well, that continued for a few years.

And every time we did it Don got blessed, and I got a little farther on down the road from my fears.

One day I realized I was sitting there playing by myself and I was OK. I was really OK. And it was a huge

moment for me because I never thought I’d ever be able to play again. And I realized it was my love for

Don, and trying bless him over and over, day after day that had carried me past the pit of my own

personal hell. Suddenly, I stretched forth my hand. Suddenly I stood and my ankles received strength.

Suddenly this blind man could see. Suddenly I was walking and leaping and praising God.

Love was the thing.

 

One of my remaining hang-ups was I couldn’t figure out who decided the intervals on the piano, i.e. who

decided what the notes were and the distance between each tone, be it black or white.

I was not a musician educated in these matters. It really bothered me. For all intents and purposes, the

piano was the gold standard for the intervals. I went to music colleges and professors. Nobody I could

find seemed to know the answer or had even pondered the question. I talked to Don about it and he

didn’t know either. But, several weeks later as I walked into the office and he looked at me and said

“Pythagorus.” I said, “What???” We usually spoke in our own private code and I’m searching for a clue

as to what this means. “Pythagorus…he was a Greek. He figured out the mathematical ratios that

determined the intervals between the notes.” (It may not sound like much, but you have to remember

this was before Google.) I didn’t play better as a result of that knowledge but things made more sense

for me. I knew what I had in my heart. I was not empty anymore.

Now I knew how much weight to give the music. It was simply a western civilization question.

How much Country & Western civilization did I have in my fingers?

 

THE BEGINNING: Open mike night

 

I remember reading a book about Jazz/Blues greats and how one of them cut his finger on a rusty guitar

string and couldn’t afford the $15 for a shot for the infection. He died of hepatitis.

And I remember towards the end of my time there showing the book and those lines to Don saying

to him, “I have to go there. I have to know.” He sadly shook his head and quietly said, “I know. I’ll set

you up a meeting with Dad.” And, open mike night was not unlike climbing in the ring with a stranger

intent on taking your head off. You’re going to learn a few things if you don’t get killed outright.

 

 

AS OF THIS WRITING, we don’t have “full time” musicians in the S.O.W.E.R.S. Program.

If you’re working on music, you’re most likely splitting firewood and slopping pigs too.

Music opens up when we see people have a mind to work.

It shows up not only in your disciplined approach to music, but also in your disciplined

approach to pigs and fire wood. It also shows up in your disciplined approach and work ethic with

respect to the reading you’re assigned and your oral exam performance.

For you S.O.W.E.R.S. who remember your Orientalisms, it’s not the “Green Bay tree.”

You have to do your homework.

And, music is not an answer any more than slopping pigs or splitting firewood is an answer.

Slopping the pigs answers the question about how the pigs are going to eat tonight.

Firewood answers the question about staying warm and cooking.

When it comes to music, it’s a privilege to entertain God’s people, to hear them sing along, see them smile

or hear them laugh. (I am still not a musician.)

 

Writing and playing: If you can type on a computer keyboard and form words, you have the basic muscle

coordination to play the piano or guitar. If you can write a deeply personal letter, you have the basic

skills to write lyrics. How much skill? Well, how hard do you want to work?

 

Talent? In basketball, you can’t train someone to be 7 feet tall. But look around on the floor and you see

people of varying size.

 

No one is born knowing how to write lyrics or play the piano. These skills are acquired.

 

Like splitting wood, there is purpose and profit to this work when we act, we do, and walk in love.

“Yet I show unto you a more excellent way…”